


Fireworks

by mordredslullabies



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 17:36:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4272021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mordredslullabies/pseuds/mordredslullabies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the Fourth of July. Which also happens to be Steve's birthday. And Bucky's kind of scared of loud noises. But it's okay, because he gets to celebrate with his best friend. On a rooftop, because apparently I like rooftops. If you squint, it could be considered Stevebucky romantically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fireworks

**Author's Note:**

> This deals a little bit with the idea that Bucky has PTSD when it comes to loud noises, like fireworks, which can induce a flashback. It's not violent or anything, so don't worry about that. I'm also NOT an expert on PTSD, so if I got any details wrong or made someone uncomfortable with my inaccuracies, please don't hesitate to tell me.
> 
> Otherwise, this was meant to be a small drabble of a special moment between Steve and Bucky on Steve's birthday. It's supposed to be fluff mixed with just a tiny bit on angst. Hope you enjoy.

BANG!

Fireworks exploded in the air, but Bucky couldn’t tell the difference between harmless fun and a blood soaked death at that very moment. Loud noises startled him, plunged him back into memories. Not just memories of his deeds as the Winter Soldier, but before that, as Sargent James Barnes during World War II, plunging into chaos guns blazing, waiting in the rafters with a sniper rifle underneath him. At that moment, his sight ran red and the only thing in his mind was carnage, death, and hell raining down on him.

Bucky choked on the terror and the memories, trying but failing to get his breathing under control. He brought his cybernetic arm to his throat, trying to figure out why he couldn’t breathe, why his airways were clogged up, why he was hyperventilating and couldn’t focus on anything but the banging sound of the fireworks exploding.

“Bucky?” he heard, a tinny voice somewhere in the back of his mind. His ears were ringing. He couldn’t focus on his surroundings. He was back on that battle field, watching people die and be crushed underneath his boots.

“Bucky!” the voice said louder, and there were hands on his arms. Instinct drove into him and he shoved at the hands. There was a grunt and the hands left him, the body was shoved away from him spilling onto the floor. Bucky’s senses came back to him as he realised it was just Steve. He was his best friend Steve and Bucky was in the 21st century at Steve’s apartment and everything was okay. He was okay.

Bucky swallowed. “Steve,” he said beseechingly, hoping the other man would forgive him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…know it was you.”

Steve smiled slightly at Bucky and sat up. “It’s okay, Buck. Stuck in a memory?”

Bucky nodded. “Flashbacks. I don’t like loud noises.”

The colour drained from Steve’s face. “Oh, the fireworks. I should have realised you wouldn’t like them. I’m so sorry.”

“…They’re just fireworks. Right. When you’re stuck in a memory it’s hard to tell the difference between fireworks and gunfire, no matter how many times you’ve heard them.”

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve said.

“Don’t worry about it, pal.”

They were both caught in an awkward silence for a few minutes, Bucky flinching every time he heard the fireworks outside or kids exploding their firecrackers.

“Maybe you’d feel better if you could watch the fireworks?” Steve finally said. “So you can know what they are for sure.”

Bucky didn’t see how that would work, but Steve was looking at him with so much determination and hope that Bucky didn’t really want to say no or argue with him. “Yeah, okay,” he said dubiously, shoving his long dark hair away from his eyes and getting out from the crouch he was in in the corner of Steve’s bedroom. He helped Steve up and followed him out the door of the apartment to the roof, where they could see the whole city, fireworks and all.

The fireworks were beautiful, exploding in the night sky like that. Fanning out, all different colours: red and orange and green. Some of them even looked like they had sparkles in them. He knew Steve would have been fascinated by that when they were kids, back before the war. They used to sneak out of their houses late at night and watch the Fourth of July festivities, their hands clasped together and their eyes wide. Steve would wheeze and use his inhaler, caught up in the sheer beauty of them (“Look, Buck!” he’d say, the fireworks shining in his eyes, “I’ve never seen anything more beautiful!”). It was their tradition. Bucky can’t believe he’d forgotten that.

But he had to admit: Steve was kind of right. He still flinched when the fireworks exploded, but soon as he saw the colours bloom in the sky, watched their magnificence, he could relax. It wasn’t 1945 anymore. He wasn’t a killing machine frozen in ice, memories being wiped. He was Bucky, he was who he chose to be.

“Not a bad idea, Rogers,” he said, “to watch the fireworks.”

Steve was rubbing his hand up and down Bucky’s spine in support, trying to draw the tension out of his muscles. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Happy Fourth of July,” he said. “Been a while since you’ve seen one of those, huh?”

Bucky swallowed. If he had, he certainly didn’t remember it. But there was something he _did_ remember. “It’s not just the Fourth. Don’t I recall Captain America, the symbol of patriotism, having his birthday today of all days?” Bucky gave Steve a smirk and for a moment he felt like it was the old days again.

Steve blushed. He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not that important.”

“Of course it’s important, Rogers. Come on, how old are you now? 96? 97?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’m a senior citizen. I already get enough of those jokes from Nat.”

“When we were kids, we used to sneak out and see the fireworks, yeah?”

Steve’s eyes lit up for a moment. “That’s right,” he said hesitantly, not wanting to push anything. Only, Bucky was the one who brought it up.

Bucky’s eyebrows knit in consternation. “Did I tell you once that the fireworks were for you? That it was your special birthday present?”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, once, on my 11th birthday. I almost believed you, jerk!”

“Hmm,” Bucky hummed. He shifted his body, leaning closer towards Steve. Then he whispered in the other man’s ear. “The fireworks are telling you happy birthday, Steve.”

“Come on, man!” Steve said, shoving playfully at Bucky’s arm. Bucky grinned again, feeling more in tune with his mind and body than he had been the past few months. He felt safe here with Steve. Content.

He placed his robotic arm lightly around Steve’s waist and Steve leaned back into him, resting his head on Bucky’s shoulder. Steve was far bigger than he used to be, back when he was a scrawny artist and used to fall asleep in Bucky’s arms all the time, sketchbook in his lap. But old habits die hard, and even though they were virtually the same size, Steve still fit like he was meant to be there.

“Happy birthday, Stevie,” Bucky whispered.

“Thanks, Buck.”

“Sorry I didn’t get you a present.”

“Of course you did.” Steve looked up into Bucky’s eyes. Fireworks danced in the blue irises. “You came back to me. You came home. That’s all I could ever ask for.”

The two men smiled at each other and snuggled closer. They watched the fireworks until they were over, savouring the moment. Steve thought he’d never had a better birthday in the history of birthdays. Bucky felt like he was finally getting a hold of being in the real world. They were going to be okay. They’d make it. After all, they had each other to watch their backs, now didn’t they?


End file.
